Fall from Grace
by Jazz XD
Summary: After Reichenbach. Sherlock is dead and John needs to move on - but what happens when he makes a discovery in Sherlock's room that could potentially change everything? Rated T just to be on the safe side. This is my first ever FanFic! Been sitting on it for a while - hope you like it - read and review :)
1. Discoveries

Chapter One: 

Discoveries

It had been a considerable time that Sherlock had been gone. The loss of him took a larger toll than I thought it would have. But, I'd started to move forward again. And then it happened.

As I was the closest thing to family Sherlock had (and Mycroft was too busy to come and collect it) it was seen fit for me to keep all his belongings. They were simple things, his computer, his phone (both locked of course), his coat – the one he'd turn up the collar of because he thought it looked cool- and any weird contraptions he might have kept in his room. A room, which I'd been shying away from like it was some sort of taboo.

Finally, DI Lestrade cornered me. I'd come in to the station to collect my wallet after dropping it on the street the week before. "God John," He'd said, "You look like… when was the last time you slept? Come on, I know that you're upset, but this isn't a way to live!" I just stared at him. Blankly.

He was undeterred. "Okay, so tell me you've at least found another flat mate," He persisted.

"No. I haven't been in Sher-…his, room yet."

"What? You haven't even cleared out his room yet? Right." He resolved, and went to the police department receptionist. Five minutes later, he banged his fist on the desk and came to me. "You're going to do it. Right now. I can't come with you, I'm needed on this case but as soon as I can I'm coming to check on you," The way he said it made it impossible not to believe him.

I went out of the station and caught a cab. In it, I pondered, Lestrade had a point. This couldn't go on forever. Eventually I'd have to accept that he…that he… that Sherlock wasn't going to come back. The room needed emptying. And I was the one who had to do it. Otherwise, I probably would never be able to let go.

The cab ride wasn't long enough. I'd wanted more time to think, to ready myself, to mourn. But, when the car dragged to a stop, I paid the driver and got out of its safe encasing into the nipping winds. I let myself in. The journey into the flat and to Sherlock's room was a deliberate and conscious one. Steadily, I made the journey, counting my steps as I went. Hovering, I mustered the courage to open the door.

It wasn't as bad as I'd imagined. Sherlock's room was almost... normal. A bed, sheets pressed razor thin. A coffee table with various sizes of circular white cups arranged in a pattern - one small cup surrounded by big cups, medium ones filling the gaps – all at different stages of germ growth. A TV on the wall – so dusty it was obvious Sherlock had never used it in his life. Near the window next to a set of wardrobes was a desk with different coloured liquids in chemical test tubes and flasks. I decided to deal with them last.

What caught my eye was something glinting tucked into the top right corner of the room. It was a silver safe. What was astonishing was that the door of the safe was slightly ajar. That wasn't like Sherlock – he was meticulous! He made a mistake as basic as not shutting the door properly! He wasn't some amateur... which meant he left it open on purpose, I concluded.

Unable to stop myself, I curved up to the safe and pulled it open. It was full up to the brim: Parcels, Logbooks, Photographs, Receipts, even a laptop! Any method of proof, of evidence could probably be found in the safe if you checked. I pulled out a random set of photographs. Some of them had Sherlock in, but all of them had someone I had never encountered before in them.

She was slender, with a cropped shock of very, very dark brown hair and lighter brown eyes. She was very pretty – most of the pictures looked as if she only noticed the camera at the last second. Was she a model? What would Sherlock want with a model? I put the photos back and picked another pack. Again, photos of this same woman. Who was the woman in the photographs with Sherlock? Why did he have them of her? Who was she to him for him to keep her photos preserved so...

"Ouch!" I exclaimed. The door had swung into my side and slightly dug into my arm. When wrenching it away I almost missed the glitter of gold – a speck of it among the silver. Gently, I pulled the door back to see there was a nail screwed in it and hanging from it a golden chain. Hanging from that, was a ring. A gold ring. An engraved ring. The inscription said: _Big Brother. Grace xx_

Grace. Sherlock's sister. Sherlock's secret. One thing was for certain – I was going to get answers, and there was only one person I could think of who had them. Mycroft.


	2. Girl Trouble?

Chapter Two:

Girl Trouble?

The only way to find Mycroft Holmes was for him to look for you. Mycroft only ever looked for you if you were a national threat. So, I decided as I grabbed my laptop, I'd just have to become one. Taking a deep, deep breath, I summoned the nerve, and began to type in my blog: '..._The Woman. I shouldn't really be writing the details of this case – as I said when I blogged it before, I couldn't because of the Official Secrets Act, but...'_

Now, it was just a matter of sitting and playing the waiting game.

The sleek black car rolled up outside quicker than expected – I'd thought I'd have to wait at least over half an hour before Mycroft noticed. I grabbed some things – my house keys, a picture of Grace, the ring with the engraving in, and my cane – and hurried out the door. Inside the car, Mycroft's usual female glamorous assistant was doing something on her phone – paying absolutely no attention to me. Ah, she was so pretty. A brunette. However, experiences in the past had shown me there was completely no point in trying to speak to her. All I could do was get in the car.

It was a secluded place – as usual. A cottage out in the middle of nowhere. It was empty, save for a voice. Mycroft's voice. "You know, you could have just phoned me," I found the living room where he was sat in. "But I must give you credit. I didn't think you'd turn out to be so devious John," He said, his face a mask. "Come now, I assume you're not here just to hear me praise you. What is it?"

I took in a nervous breath. "Why didn't you tell me about your little sister?" I asked hoping my tone sounded casual. Mycroft frowned, and his eyebrows furrowed. "What sister?"

"Oh, so Grace is just Sherlock's little sister? Your...half sister?"

"John what are you dithering on about? Neither Sherlock nor I have ever had a sister never mind one called Grace. What lunacy has convinced you that Sherlock would ever be able to live with a girl? It made Mummy so sad..." Mycroft trailed off leaving me dumbstruck. I supposed it made sense, considering how Sherlock would treat poor Molly, but then why...?

I started cautiously, showing Mycroft first the ring, then the photograph "But Mycroft – look, this clearly says big brother – Grace-"

"Grace obviously saw him as a big brother even though they weren't blood related. This is Grace, I presume?"

"I think so. It makes sense." I went into brief overview of the day's events so far.

"My. This **is** interesting. I think you should look into this. You spent time with Sherlock – learnt some deductive skills, as is shown by how you contacted me. Investigate this John. I look forward to seeing what you find."

Investigate. A simple word that meant a world of things to me. Investigate. Yes, I was going to investigate – the mystery of Grace. I turned to leave and begin my examination of the safe to find a starting point when Mycroft called:

"And next time John, please phone."


	3. Lost in a Book

Chapter Three: 

Lost in a Book

The hardest part was trying to find a beginning. I had a whole safe, brimming, bulging with answers to all my questions._ '...Let's think about this logically, John...'_ I thought to myself, _'...There are just too many receipts and tickets to log. Same with the photos – it's too much for just one person. There is no point in going for the laptop – it will have a password. This leaves the books and packages...'_ I deliberated on this for quite a while before deciding that there could be a number of (possibly nasty) surprises in the parcels, so the best option was to go for the books. So, I grabbed one and began to leaf through...

At the same time, Lestrade parked up outside the flat. He was itching to see whether I had taken his advice –and if not, he had an iron resolve to set me straight. Well, to try. In all honesties, Lestrade was sincerely hoping it wouldn't come to it. He rang the doorbell, shifting his weight from one foot to the other nervously. After what seemed like eons to him, Mrs Hudson unlocked the door. "Hi Mrs Hudson, is John in?" She nodded, and shuffled back into her apartment. Lestrade took a breath and started up the stairs.

Up in the flat, my mind was reeling with the explosive discoveries the books had given. Log books. They were **log books**! How often I remembered pleading with Sherlock to keep a record of customers he saw when I was out and there I was staring at **log books**. But that was just the icing on the cake! The most important factor had to be-

"John! Good, you've started. Let's get on with it then."

"Lestrade!" I barked, image forming in my mind. Lestrade looked slightly afraid. Softening my tone, I asked, "Did Sherlock ever introduce you to a woman? I mean, like someone he worked with other than me? "

"You mean Grace?" Three words that brought a new world of questions to life.

"You know Grace?"

"Of course I did... John, what's going on...?"

"Tell me about her."

Lestrade kept calm. It was true, he hadn't expected this to happen at all, but at that point, it wasn't going so bad. "Grace was a uni student. She worked with Sherlock. She was a funny one. I remember once there was a dead body in a hotel room, but there was nothing on CCTV, so we called Sherlock. That was around the third or fourth time I'd seen Grace. I didn't want to let her in, but Sherlock said 'If you don't want to be pulling me into crime scenes when I'm eighty-four with severe mental diseases the let me train my protégée!'" Lestrade put on an arrogant tone, puffing his chest out as he quoted Sherlock. "Carry on," I urged.

"So she went in. She made a few observations, but he went 'It was the wife.' It was so quick, but then, Sherlock was that quick right? She looked at him and went 'How?' He said 'Crumbs, ring, detective agency down the street and lipstick.' I had no clue what he was on about, but Grace seemed to follow his train of thought, because he said 'He was married. His wife hired someone to see if her husband was cheating. He had dinner with the detective she hired, and they came to the hotel. That's when she called his wife and left. His wife shot him.' This was the bit that was most important though. When Sherlock made a remark of disgust of how the wife let rage overtake her, Grace said 'No, you're wrong.'" My eyes widened. Sherlock was never wrong.

"She goes 'The lipstick.' Sherlock scoffed and said 'Part of the detectives work' but then she goes 'Wrong again.' And I was **really** shocked. Sherlock was really biting, going 'Go on then, explain.' And she went 'Look at the body. It's so neat – he's been shot, he should be splayed everywhere, but he isn't. Only the killer could've done that and we've already said it's his wife. Its proof she loved him - she couldn't bear the fact he was a cheat. But, she was also sad to lose him, so she neatened his body, and kissed him goodbye. And, to rule out your earlier point about the detective, someone who is going to shoot her husband for cheating wouldn't authorise another woman to hit on him. Of course, you wouldn't understand it – you lack the necessary emotion.' Sherlock looked like she'd slapped him." I stood in awe of Grace. Sherlock had missed it. But she hadn't.

"Obviously Sherlock retaliated, telling her how she was weird, she'd wear designer bags but had holes in her shirt sleeves, wore makeup but then wore a hoodie and trainers, he couldn't make out if she was rich or poor, if she was girly or a tomboy." Lestrade finished his story, looking reminiscent.  
"Where is she now?" I asked absently.

"Gone. After a while, she faded away, stopped turning up to uni or meeting with Sherlock so we went to her place – Sherlock and me – and he went crazy. Don't know why, he was just really frantic, trying to find her. He even went overseas. But then, he came back, and just...stopped." That was really strange. The safe, then was probably all the clues to finding Grace. Why was he so frantic, though? And, more importantly, if this was such a big deal to Sherlock, such a major case for him, why did he just stop?

I turned into the living room and went to Sherlock's desk. I was about to open the top drawer but then reminded myself I was with Lestrade, so opened the second drawer instead, taking out a small black leather object and slipping it in my pocket. "Lestrade!" I called.

"What?" He answered.

"Grab your keys. We're going out."

"Where?" I turned and smiled at his blank face.

"Grace's house."


	4. Copycat

Chapter Four:

Copycat

W e drove to Grace's in silence. To an average person, the scene would've seemed peaceful. But I needed to be so much better than average. Whatever was going on, Sherlock kept it secret until the end of his life, which meant it was huge. I needed to be so much more than average – or I'd get nowhere. I glanced at Lestrade, trying to see him how Sherlock would've seen him. He was driving safely – but then, he was a police officer what did you expect? He looked calm… there! His knuckles gave him away, white as he gripped the steering wheel. He was obviously seething – _'He wasn't like that when he came to the flat… I must've done something.'_ I assumed.

Frankly, I didn't really care. I had so much to think about, Lestrade's feelings didn't seem to even place in my list of priorities. Suddenly, Sherlock's indifference to others made so much sense. I envied Sherlock – how did he manage to do this? So many, so many questions were rattling around in my head! So many facts to consider! So much information I needed to keep fresh at the front of my mind! What was going on? Who was Grace – where did she come from? Why did she know Sherlock? Why did she work with him? Why didn't he tell me? Why did she disappear? Why did Sherlock try to find her so badly? Why did he stop? Why, why, why, why, why! When Mycroft advised me to investigate, I didn't realize the scope of the mystery, and then, when I finally grasped the magnitude of my task, it only just got worse…

After a stifling twenty minutes, the car rolled to a stop. "We're here." Lestrade stated. I took a quick glance at the building we'd stopped outside of. "Hertford Court? Isn't this place over a thousand pounds a week in rent?" I asked incredulously. Lestrade and I got out the car and began to walk into the building. "That's just for low season, in high season you could pay one thousand five hundred…two thousand pounds?" He mused to himself as we walked through the door. A man was sat at the reception. We reached there and I prepared myself, readying the black leather pouch I took from the drawer in Sherlock's room. "DI Dimmock this is DI Lestrade we need to ask you a few questions." I could feel Lestrade's gaze boring into my back. Clearly, he wasn't happy about using police officers ID's to get information, but I ignored him – I had to get into Grace's apartment!

The man's gaze shifted suspiciously from me to Lestrade and back. "Hey!" He finally said "Just what are you tryna pull? I know DI Lestrade! Scrawny bugger – had a right attitude on him too! You're not Lestrade!" _'…Sherlock…_' I thought, excitedly. _'…Calm down, John. You expected this, now don't get carried away and blow it…'  
_"And he had dark brown hair, and wore a scarf and coat?" I said in my best matter-of-fact voice.~  
"Yeah." The man said spitefully. "He did." I took a quick breath and span around to Lestrade. "Greg! We missed him! Sherlock got here without us! Gosh!" Utterly over-exaggerating,I span back round to the receptionist and exclaimed "The two are always at it – which Lestrade brother can solve more cases!" I then leaned in and spoke at a whisper "I tell you how it started – word down at the nick is they fell out over some bird – haven't been the same since," The receptionist snickered and I internally sighed of relief.

That's when Lestrade decided to take over. "Back to the point…" He pushed in front of me and leaned on the desk, lifting Grace's photograph. "What can you tell me about the woman in this photograph?" "Oh! You mean Gracie – such a sweet girl – yeah, um, she lives in flat five. The other Lestrade who came a few months back asked about her too - is she in some kind of trouble?"  
"It's too early in the investi-" I interrupted Lestrade quickly  
"What my colleague means is that the other brother came to investigate and the case went cold, however we've received new information and are re-gathering fresh evidence, so it's quite early to talk about the new investigation. Is it possible to see Grace in flat five?"  
"Erm…sure, but I better ask the manager for the key." _'...No! The manager will want to see a warrant! We don't have one!..._'  
"That's not necessary; just point us in the right direction." I said, slightly panicked.  
"Okay – use the lift to floor five, the first door you see."  
"Thanks," I said and sped off towards the lift

I waited we were in the lift before I sighed in relief. "John – John you can't just use police ID's to-" Lestrade's voice was pleading.  
"Well if I'd let you finish your sentence it wouldn't have worked anyway!" I spat viciously "You do realise that it would have made no sense if you'd said it was the start of the investigation now when Sherlock was here months ago?" Lestrade's cheeks burned, and I realised I'd gone too far.  
"I'm sorry…Greg…"  
"Don't," Lestrade smiled at the carpet in the lift. "I see what you're trying to do, John. And he – Sherlock - wouldn't have apologised."  
"I'm not Sherlock." _'…Not yet. I'm not good enough. Not yet…'_

The lift pinged and it couldn't have had better timing. We walked into a long hall leading up to a single door. Grace's apartment. I walked with quick steps, almost jogging. Quietly, I tried the door. "Locked...!" I whispered over to Lestrade, as if speaking up would get us caught and make everything end. Lestrade grinned.  
"Move." He whispered. He was holding a plastic gift card.  
"No, Greg! That only works in movies!"  
"Actually, it does work but with the right kind of lock. This lock is one where the lock should be curved towards me, so if I just slide the card in and push the lock into its socket-" Lestrade quickly snapped the card in the other direction to which he was holding it and the door popped open. "It opens."  
"Right. And you know this how?"  
"I'm a cop, it helps to know little tricks like this." Lestrade shrugged as he spoke. "You ready, John?"  
"No. Let's just go in anyway."

* * *

**Hi! I haven't updated in AGES cuz' I've got a mountain of exams . I'll try to be faster. I'm curious to know what all of you think about Grace - what do you think is the answer to some on John's questions? Please keep on reading and review - the next chapter is (hopefully) going to be even better than those previous ;D**


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